run baby run
by partlysunny
Summary: and don't ever look back- A series of next generation drabbles: 28. Molly & Dominique
1. Chapter 1

1.

7.17. 11

Blueberry Scone

Lily

marvel, cedar, ice

_Princess Lily_. She'd grown up hearing it, believing it. She was pretty Lily Potter, the only daughter of the legend himself. She was a burst of sunshine, a breath of fresh air, a slice of something so exquisitely different in a family so large that names and faces blended together in one red blur. She could melt ice with that smile of hers, stop a heart cold with a single wink. She was the one all the boys marveled at when she walked by, the one who kicked up fairy dust into all the other girls' faces, the one who could silence an entire room with a trill of that delicate laugh that sounded like pealing bells and chimes being blown by a cedar breeze, the one who got away with nicking a blueberry scone right off the baking pan at Grandma Molly's while all the others got chastised because she was Princess Lily and she could do no wrong.

She was Lily Potter, the family jewel, the brightest star in the sky. Just watch her glow, watch her shine.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

7.18.11

Italian Chocolate

Lucy_OC_Rose

globe, skyline, villa

Lucy didn't live in a dreamland. She was realistic and grounded to earth by an anchor she built herself and she had been perfectly happy with where she was until she met him, the boy with the funny accent and the hair like dark chocolate. He shook off the chains that kept her on the ground and flew her around the globe with his words even though sometimes she didn't understand the fast Italian that burst out of him periodically (but that was okay because her heart understood it perfectly). He painted pictures of skylines in her head, of gardens at the back of colorful villas overlooking beautiful blue waters, he took her so far away from her anchor that when she came back to it, it was almost difficult to chain herself to it again.

But it didn't matter, because Rose was right there to take him away, because Rose wasn't chained to anything, because Rose was as free a spirit as he was, because Rose was a dreamer and Lucy knew that in the end, it would be Rose. It would always be Rose.

So Lucy chained herself back to her anchor and added a few more locks for good measure to make it harder for any more pretty boys to take her off the ground again. There would be no more dreams but that was okay because Lucy had her comfortable anchor and that's the only thing she needs, really, to keep her grounded and not flying off to strange new places that had hurt secretly lurking under every pretty rock and in between every shiny crevice.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Storm Watch

Victoire_Lorcan_

Bluebell, fireworks

Victoire always sat on the porch during a storm. She would sit at the very edge of her seat, her delicate chin in her hand, watching bursts of white light up the sky and gasp just a bit whenever she heard a clap of thunder. And while she was on storm watch, Lorcan watched her. It used to confuse him whenever he saw her sitting there with her eyes wide, her lips parted, watching the storm with all the intensity of a little kid watching a fireworks display. And it took him a while but eventually, he got it.

Victoire _was_ the storm. She was all emotion, she burned with it, burned with love and hate, burned with jealousy at being eternally overshadowed by her beautiful mother, burned with desire to be the best, burned with drive and determination. She would start out small, a shout or two (a clap of thunder), then her eyes would flash dangerously (a burst of lightning), and then she would explode (water, water everywhere, overflowing in the gutter and drowning the bluebells and hydrangeas in the garden, drowning everything). And sometimes, when Victoire wasn't home, Lorcan would find himself on storm watch, watching another version of her carve its path of destruction (and life).

Lorcan was always sure to let Victoire have some time alone as water fell all around her but at the very end of the storm, when he could tell it was just about over, he would go out to the porch and scoop her up in his arms and he held onto his little storm cloud as they watched her tear apart the skies.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

7.20.11

Tiramisu

Dominique & Louis

precious, admire, gallant

Tiramisu Tuesdays were the worst. Dominique liked to tell herself that it wasn't because when it was her turn to make the dessert, it tasted _terrible_.

"Too much espresso," Louis told her from his perch at the kitchen table. He wasn't even be looking at her as he said it—his eyes were always glued to whatever book he was going through that Tuesday.

Dominique grit her teeth and grabbed the wine bottle.

"You always put too much wine," he said casually, flipping through his precious book. "And don't soak the cookies too much. You always do that too."

"You do it, then!" Dominique wanted to shout. She wanted to slam the bottle of wine down onto the counter with a force that would shatter it and show Louis just how angry she was that he could make a better dish than she could, that he was smarter and more ambitious than her, that he was the most loved, the most admired, the gallant Louis Weasley, the prodigal child that she could never be who could make tiramisu like she never could no matter how much wine and how little coffee she put in, that no matter how much she tried, her tiramisu still tasted bitter and foul, just like how she felt when he was serving his to their delighted parents.

She didn't say anything, of course, she just listened to his patient directions. But Dominique, she was a star trying to outshine a much brighter one and one day, all her efforts would make her go supernova, to transcend brightness itself, to truly be the best.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

7.21.11

Fluffy Towels

Molly_Lysander_

circus, devil, sword fighting

Lysander lived in a fantasy world where his dreams were all he needed and Molly hated it.

"You can't hide in your dream world all the time," Molly reminded him, more frequently than he cared to be reminded. "Sooner or later, you'll have to face reality."

But reality had nothing on what went on in Lysander's head. In his head, he didn't have to fight all the time. In his head, he never tired of Molly, the red-haired devil who smashed his dreams and kept trying to wake him up to the real world. In his head, they didn't bait each other like matadors waving fluffy towels at angry bulls. In his head, their relationship wasn't a circus, a show everyone could watch in awe and fear, or a sword fighting match, a chance to see who could get in more jabs at the other until someone gave in. In his head, Lysander was safe, safe to escape from reality, from Molly's harsh words, from everyone's scrutinizing attentions. Only in his head was he safe to dream.

"I don't hide from reality," he told her. "Reality hides from me." And he'd close his eyes and submerge himself in thoughts of a world that didn't exist, where the world was his playground and Molly was always waiting for him with her arms wide open.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

7.22.11

Hazelnut Cream

Dominique_Lorcan_

crystalline, spray, pastel

Lorcan was a work of art, plain and simple, and if Dominique had any talent with a paintbrush then she would've tried painting him. He was a living collage of pastel colors—cream colored skin, light pink cheeks, hair in the soft brown tones of hazelnut. He had eyes that were a blue so crystalline that they seemed to have no end. She'd have to use some kind of spray paint to get those random specks of green in his clear blue pools that only appeared when he was in the sun, and then to capture the freckles that lightly dusted his nose. That would be the easy part.

The hard part would be capturing the way a dimple would occasionally make an appearance on the left side of his chin when he smiled, or the way he'd stare hard at the floor with one eyebrow raised when he listened to her speak. It would be more than a little difficult to get that crease in between his eyes right, the one that popped up when he frowned, and the way his eyes got really small when he grinned. That would be hard.

But Dominique knew that a painting couldn't ever capture the way he made her smile without saying anything, or the way his laugh raised goosebumps on her arms. A painting couldn't get those glances they shared when words couldn't be said and the way he made her burn like an open flame with just one touch. And maybe she was just saying this because she couldn't paint but even if she could, she wouldn't want to paint Lorcan because he was a work of art and this work of art belonged in her head, where she could take him out and just stare whenever she wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

7.23.11

Winter Wonderland

Scorpius_Roxanne_

apple, flirt, icicle

Scorpius first notices Roxanne one cold day in December. She's sitting on a stone bench on the courtyard as all around her, students are taking in the first snow of the season. There's an icicle in her gloved hands, of all things. Scorpius is supposed to be helping Al with his Potions essay but he can't stop looking at this girl—a Weasley, obviously, from the looks of her ginger hair. She looks a lot like a porcelain doll, with that pale, pale skin and one green vein visible on her forehead. Her cheeks are twin spots of pink, despite the blue and bronze scarf wrapped tightly around her neck to ward off the chill, and her lips are as red as a ripe apple. And before he even knows it, Scorpius finds himself on his feet, pumping himself with confidence because he's a fourth year now and fourth years aren't supposed to be afraid.

"Al, what's that girl's name?" he asks his raven haired friend.

Al looks up and blanches. "It's my cousin Roxanne, but don't you even try to flirt, or else Fred will—"

But Scorpius has already walked away, away from Albus's fear and apprehension, over to the stone bench where she's sitting, still holding onto that icicle. He looks down at her for a moment—_she's so pretty up close_—before clearing his throat. The girl blinks up at him with big brown eyes. A beat passes before he can recall why he's actually here.

"What's that you got there, Roxanne?" he says casually.

"An icicle," she replies. She lifts it to her eyes and looks through it, not looking the least bit surprised that he knows her name. "It's so pretty, but when you try to see through it, everything's so blurry. Isn't that strange?"

Scorpius nods, although he doesn't quite know what this has to do with anything, but he decides, right there in that courtyard that is fast becoming a winter wonderland, that strange might be good, because she's so pretty, and everything else is a blur.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

7.24.11

White Chocolate Cherries

Dominique_Lorcan_Rose

outer space, tranquil

Lorcan reminded Rose of white chocolate. It was because of that one time Aunt Ginny had sent the two of them out to buy ingredients for Teddy's birthday cake.

"No, get white chocolate," Lorcan had said, smacking her hand as it reached for the dark chocolate in the grocery store. "Dark is too… I don't know, loud."

Rose supposed he was right, in a way. There was something tranquil about white chocolate, something pure, sweet but at the same time muted, quieter somehow. Just like Lorcan, the quiet, peaceful boy. Lorcan was definitely white chocolate.

And if Lorcan's personality could be defined as white chocolate, then Dominique was definitely a cherry. She was loud and different, blasted down from outer space itself, full of flavor and meaning, and on the outside she was pretty and shiny and the perfect topping for any drink or dessert or any anything, but inside there was a hideous pit that could break your teeth if you didn't watch out.

And okay, maybe they matched, because white chocolate was too sweet on its own and cherries were too tangy on their own. Maybe together, they'd make the perfect little dish?

Whatever. Rose had always thought that white chocolate cherries tasted like shit anyway.


	9. Chapter 9

9.

7.25.11

Café au lait

James_OC_Louis

bloom, mythology, freestyle

"Just forget him," James told her. He didn't want to sound like he was pleading but he couldn't deny that it was exactly what he was doing, just like how he couldn't deny that his feelings for her continued to bloom as hers faded, or that he didn't blame her at all because Louis was so perfect, perfect for her. Louis was café au lait while James was black coffee with no sugar. Louis was a poem in freestyle while James was a boring one-liner. Louis was smart and funny and handsome and nice and all James had going for him was his last name.

"Who cares about Louis?" James said, taking her chin in his fingers and looking into her eyes. He always used to think she looked rather like those gods in Greek mythology—all lush blonde hair, big blue eyes, redred lips. She could've been the goddess of love or something. But right now, she just looked like a plain old girl, a plain old girl about to make a very important decision.

"Forget about him," he said again. "I'm here. Just forget him."

There was a moment of silence, then—

"I can't," she said, and he lost her.


	10. Chapter 10

10.

7.26.11

Toasted Chestnut

Lysander

volume, spiral

Lysander Scamander was not on a downward spiral in life.

He _was_ the downward spiral.

Everything he did, he did hard. He lived hard, he partied hard, he ran hard, he drank hard. There was no such thing as a shot glass to him—he took his scotch straight out of the bottle, thanks. He only listened to his music with the volume all the way up. And if he was ever going to eat those nuts his mother always insisted on him eating because they were "good for him", those nuts he had been refusing to eat ever since he was a kid, he was going to toast them to crisps first and fill the entire house with the scent of burning chestnut, the scent of things that were supposed to be good for him, going up in smoke.

So he got detention a lot. So he was called a "nuisance" and a "menace" a lot. So he disappointed his father a lot. So what? It was _his _life and he was going to do it big, no regrets.

And when he died, he wouldn't do it like everyone else, no way. He'd do that hard, too.


	11. Chapter 11

11.

7.27.11

Christmas Eve

Rose & Hugo

traditions, hyperactive, daring

_The dynamic duo_, their mother used to call them, while their father just grumbled about them being a pair of revolutionary, hyperactive kids. And they were both right. Rose and Hugo were not like other children. They wouldn't climb the tree, they would sit and make up stories about it. They wouldn't hide and watch for Santa to come for his cookie on Christmas Eve, they would sit right in the fireplace and wait for him. They wouldn't read books, they would write them and fill them with tales of their daring adventures, their defiance of social norms and traditions. They wouldn't just exist, they would _live_.

They took each day as it came and ran with it and they filled each moment with their hopes and dreams because they wouldn't be young forever. One day, the magic would fade and the dreams would die but not right now.

Right now, they were a couple of revolutionary kids, and they were untouchable.


	12. Chapter 12

12.

7.28.11

Peanut Butter

Roxanne_Lorcan_

chic, midnight, wild

"Here, try it. It's delicious," she said, pushing a spoonful of peanut butter at him.

Lorcan eyed it with a frown. Peanut butter straight out of the jar. Hmm.

He never actually saw himself eating peanut butter straight out of the jar. Then again, he'd never seen himself waking up at midnight to climb onto the roof and wish on every star in the sky before he met Roxanne. He'd never seen himself wearing one of those chic scarves around his neck until Roxanne bought him one. He'd never seen himself sitting around without a purpose just thinking about a girl until Roxanne came about and everything became different. Roxanne, she was wild, she was unconventional, she was a harbinger of change and every moment Lorcan was with her, he felt himself changing, becoming something better, something more.

"Sure," he said, accepting the spoon. "I'll try it."

And, like everything else she introduced him to, he loved it.


	13. Chapter 13

13.

7.29.11

Sage & Citrus

Teddy_Victoire_Lysander

galore, maraschino, blast

On the eve of her wedding to Teddy, Lysander brought Victoire a box of sliced citrus fruits coated in maraschino.

"Oh, my God, you remembered," she whispered, popping a slice of orange soaked in the red sauce into her mouth. Lysander watched her close her eyes as the blast of flavor assaulted her senses.

"Of course, I did," he said. That day had always stood out in his mind, apart from the others—so long ago, stepping into a small café in London that had sage burning in all its corners, waiting patiently as Victoire searched the menu for the dessert she swore by.

"It's the most decadent thing you will ever eat," she had said. "I have to have this before my wedding—right before. I'll sleep happy and wake up happy."

He hadn't said anything, just smiled as he watched her plan for a night that he'd never even thought of until that moment in the café when he decided that he'd be the one to marry her.

But someone had beaten him to her.

And here he was, standing on her doorstep now, with, not gifts galore (that was Teddy's forte, not Lysander's), but a humble box of her favorite sweets and a silent apology.

"I've gotta go," he said, already halfway down the pathway.

"See you at the wedding!" she called after him.

He waved, then stood and watched as she closed that door between them forever.


	14. Chapter 14

14.

7.30.11

Cranberry Cream

Albus_OC_

fatality, seaspray, illuminate

He saw her everywhere. She was in every drop of saltwater of the seaspray that the breeze blew in his face when he was at Uncle Bill's (spraying on his face like the rainwater from her hair as she spun around in circles after a storm). She was in the fruit salad that Aunt Hermione made when he was at her house (her lips were the precise shade as the cranberries sprinkled on his plate). She was in the shadows in the corners of his room that the lamp couldn't illuminate (she had always liked the darkness better than the light). She was in the frothy cream at the top of his morning coffee (it always clung to her mouth and nose no matter how carefully she sipped it). She was everywhere, it didn't matter where he went or how he tried to escape. She was in everything he did and he tried, by God he'd tried so hard to tell himself that if he'd only known of the fatality of love, of how much it'd haunt him when it was over, he wouldn't have bothered with her, but he couldn't.

Albus couldn't say she wasn't worth it, because that would be a lie.


	15. Chapter 15

15.

7.31.11

Gardenia

Molly_Scorpius_

tattoo, memorial, ribbon

"I shouldn't be here."

"You have _every right_ to be here, Scorpius," Molly said quietly.

Easy for her to say. _She_ wasn't being stared at like she had the words _My father was a Death Eater _tattooed across her forehead. People didn't whisper _her _name as they passed. No, she had no idea how he felt, how he had _absolutely no right_ to be here at this war memorial, remembering those who had fallen for a cause that the very name 'Malfoy' was completely against. 

"I really want to go," he whispered to her, trying not to sound like a little kid while ignoring (not really) the laser gazes he felt being aimed at every part of him. "Please, Molly."

She stopped before a table on the far side of the room that had a single brightly burning candle and a bowl filled with white ribbons—tributes to the fallen. She tied one around her wrist then moved to take his, but he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"This war was all of ours," she said. "So was the victory. And so are the losses. Who are they to tell you otherwise?"

Scorpius said nothing, closing his eyes. The clean, fresh scent of gardenias wafted toward him from the candle, the stares of everyone present burned him, and Molly's small fingers eased his hand out of his pocket and tied a ribbon around his wrist, but with his eyes closed, he found that he could almost believe her.


	16. Chapter 16

16.

8.1.11

German Chocolate Cake

Lorcan_Dominique_Lysander

picturesque, dainty

Her hand, so dainty and fragile and tiny like a porcelain doll's, slapped his face with a force that pushed him back on his heels.

"You can't push this onto your brother, Ly!" she screamed, color rising in her neck, inflaming her cheeks. "You can't blame every little thing on him! I told you I don't love him anymore!"

And Lysander knew he should've been angry—his cheek was burning from the slap, his throat raw from all the yelling he had done—but all he felt was a black gloom, because Dominique was not like this. This raging, blue in the face person in front of him was not Dominique. Dominique was supposed to be a happy bride, picturesque perfection in a white dress beside Lorcan, grinning and beaming and happy while they smeared each other's faces with their German chocolate wedding cake. This was not how it was supposed to turn out—his love for Dominique was supposed to have outweighed his selfishness, he was supposed to have let Lorcan take her because he knew Lorcan could make her happy.

This was not Dominique.

This was what she had become with (and because of) Lysander.


	17. Chapter 17

17.

8.2.11

Just Plain Clean

Lily_Teddy_

spindrift, chorus, garland

They only had right now.

They only had these moments, standing knee deep in the shallows with spindrift soaking their shirts, splashing each other with ocean water and sand and seaweed. They only had these few precious seconds, watching her make a garland of seashells and flowers to put in his hair. They could have forever, if they waited long enough, waited for her to grow just a little bit more, but it was right now that Teddy wanted because little Lily was just plain clean, a breath of fresh air, an angel, and a chorus would sing in his ears whenever they locked eyes and the world would get a little brighter when she smiled and he her touches would set him ablaze one day.

Right now was all they had, sitting on the shore outside of the house where there lived the girl he'd spent so much of his life thinking he'd marry. Teddy knew it wouldn't work, couldn't work (they had o much going against them) but he'd take what he could get, because little Lily Luna was everything he had ever wanted and if right now was all they could have, then right now was all that he really needed.


	18. Chapter 18

18.

8.3.11

Blueberry Cream

Rose_Lysander_

glory, model, incandescent

Lysander was a sunshine swirl, all sun-kissed skin and golden hair that was almost incandescent in direct light, and those ohsodeep eyes of his were like twin blueberries on his face. Rose tried not to stare, she really did, but it was like her eyes just sought him out before she even knew he was there and—_girl, don't you bother with him, he'd never have you anyway._ He was a model of perfection, Adonis reborn in all his glory. Lysander, he was special, different, the cream of the crop that was all the other stupid, boring boys.

But that's not why she told herself not to stare whenever he was around. It was because she knew there was no chance. Rose was the girl next door, normal and plain and unassuming. She'd be cast in shadow by the rays emanating from that swirl of sunshine. He was too handsome, too smart, too everything for her. He would never even spare her a second glance.

Rose's hopes were fragile things so she kept them as low as she could and tried her hardest not to stare at that blinding Lysander and his blueberry eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

19.

8.4.11

Spiced Pumpkin

Roxanne

ideology, elixir, ivy

Roxanne point blank hated Halloween.

Well, she liked the candy part, but that was about it.

Every year since before she could remember, the Potter-Weasleys would meet at the Burrow and carve pumpkins and make spiced cider and do other stupid seasonal things. And Roxanne participated because, well, she was a Weasley, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She didn't have to like that many Weasleys under one roof, that much red hair and freckles, that much humor, those good natured ideologies on how everything was okay as long as the _entire_ family was in the same house. What if she didn't want to put toy skeletons up in all the closets with her uncles (they'd been doing it for years, it wasn't even _scary_ anymore) or de-gnome the garden and pull ivy off the walls with her cousins (the gnomes always came back anyway and the ivy always grew again, so what was the _point_?) What if she didn't want to go shop for those stupid party favors her grandmother Molly always insisted on making _every year_ with the Philosopher's Stone rock candy and the chocolate sauce in those Goddamn Elixir of Life vials? What if she wanted _more_?

All her cousins looked the same, talked the same, acted the same. Roxanne wanted to be different. She wanted to break the mold, but God, it was so hard to break.

Okay, until she found a way to break it, she could just keep participating in their stupid traditions.

The candy part wasn't bad, after all.


	20. Chapter 20

20.

8.5.11

Eggnog

Rose_Scorpius_

delete, crumble, carried away

Rose did not really have much experience in this but (this is what she heard in her dorm when the girls got carried away, chattering late into every night) from what she knew, a good relationship was always worth it, no matter how it ended.

Worth 'it'. 'It' was vague, but she assumed that the principle would hold.

She hadn't counted on 'it' being sleepless nights and restless days. She hadn't counted on a numbness that left her cold and unfeeling to everything. She hadn't counted on constantly being on the brink of tears. She hadn't counted on shying away from everything associated with him, from the musky perfume that clung to his skin to the eggnog that he loved to spike on the holidays. She hadn't counted on being positively _weighed down_ with regret, on hardly being able to get out of bed some days She never would've seen that wave of hopelessness coming, crashing into her every day. She never would've thought that she'd have to rebuild all the walls she had let crumble for him. She never in a thousand years thought that it could end with a simple, short, "I think we should just be friends."

What she had with Scorpius had been good (beautiful) but it was not worth this. She wished she could make herself forget, just delete him from her memory.

They had been _perfect_, but 'it' wasn't worth this.


	21. Chapter 21

21.

8.6.11

Midsummer's Night

Lily_Lorcan_

breathless, lantern, carnival

Lily was really something in the summer. Freed from the threat of exams and the bother of class and the hassles of Quidditch, she was almost a different person altogether. Lorcan would watch, when he was over at the Potters' house some days, Lily as she let go and surrendered herself to the magic of the summer.

The dark was when she was at her prettiest. The heat of midsummer's night would bring twin pink spots on her cheeks, her hair falling down her back in rivulets of red that appeared gold in the light of the lanterns that hung in the garden. She always wore something that flowed when she walked, like a skirt or something, so that when she spun around in circles, a carnival of colors, and the fabric lifted itself from her skin and around her like a tent, and her laughs punctuated the air until she fell in a heap on the grass, breathless. Lorcan would smile when she hit the floor, knowing that one day he'd get lucky and she'd fall into his arms instead. He knew that one day, he'd use that magic of midsummer's night to try his luck and approach her. But for now, just sitting here on the windowsill watching her was enough for him.


	22. Chapter 22

22.

8.7.11

Sinful Delight

Teddy_Dominique_

secret, flames, disaster

They could only go down in flames, but she would gladly burn for this.

These moments they shared, the tingles she got whenever he touched her, the secret smiles he gave her from across a crowded room, the fire that consumed her whenever he kissed her, it was nothing short of sinful—_what are you even doing, he will never be yours._ She was a train wreck, a disaster, falling headlong into a sure fire collision that would absolutely for sure without a doubt destroy her but was it really her fault that she couldn't help but feel that trickle of delight every time he did something as stupid as pull a funny face at the dinner table when no one else was looking just to make her smile?

Teddy, with his shock of blue hair and careless laughs, would be her ruin, of that she was certain, but Dominique wouldn't want to have it any other way. It was wrong, all wrong—_he's marrying your sister, he will never have you—_but that was alright.


	23. Chapter 23

23.

8.8.11

Lavender Vanilla

Lucy_Lysander_

daydream, starry, blush

Lysander daydreams himself awake to a vanilla sweet scent that lingers in his nose and tickles his tongue.

"Ly, lying in a lavender field," she whispers, her voice breathy and filled with a laugh that she hasn't released yet. "Say that five times fast."

He feels a soft kiss on his lips, light as a butterfly's wings, and the ghost of her skin on his face, and he opens his eyes only to catch one glance of the starry night sky and a flash of white before a hand is clapped over his eyes and his sight is taken.

He wants to move her hand, he doesn't want her to touch his cheeks and feel his furious blush, and he still feels the tingle of her lips on his. He wants to look at her and make sure it happened at all, but Lucy said, in that dreamy tone of hers, "The world is so much more pretty with your eyes closed, Ly."

She moves her hand and lies down next to him and that heavenly vanilla scent assaults his senses again.

He finds that she's right, as usual. The stars are so much prettier with his eyes closed.


	24. Chapter 24

24.

8.9.11

Apple Cinnamon

Molly

fairy lights, jingle, sea salt

Molly had grown up a realist with great plans for herself.

As a child, she had been the stiff, non believing type, shying away from other kids who chased 'fairy lights' at night—"They're just fireflies!" she'd yell from her perch under the apple tree with her book, but they never listened.

As a teenager, she met a boy (_the_ boy, as she liked to think of it). He had eyes the color of cinnamon and a laugh that sounded like a thousand bells jingling together to one special tune and he was so _different_ than what she had known growing up and Molly knew she shouldn't—_she shouldn't_—but she did. Momentary lapse in judgment. The boy was gone as fast as he had come and Molly just felt lost afterwards, like how she did sometimes when her parents pulled her off of the beach when she didn't want to go home and she only had the lingering taste of sea salt in her mouth to remind her that she had even been there to begin with.

She waltzed straight into adulthood with a walking tall assuredness that none of her peers had. They didn't want to grow up, to live on their own and work and wash their own clothes and cook their own food and be _independent_, damn it, for the first time. They wanted to be young forever.

And while they cried over their youth being taken away from them, Molly couldn't wait to grow up and make her mark on the world, unhindered by that illusion called love and those stupid fairy lights.


	25. Chapter 25

25.

8.10.11

Sparkling Lemon

Molly_Scorpius_Lily

amaranthine, exquisite, spritz

Molly hated hated _hated_ Scorpius.

And Lily. God, she hated Lily.

The two of them together, they were nothing short of _lethal. _Molly couldn't even imagine what it must have even like to be Lily's poor brothers, having to deal with those two batting eyelashes at each other and making kissy faces over the table day in and day out. She only had to endure the ridiculous puppy love when she visited the Potters because the days she spent at the Potters' just so happened to coincide with when the Slytherin prince would decide to come calling.

It was disgusting, watching Lily in all her amaranthine, sparkling, just bloomed beauty flush over every little thing Scorpius told her. She could hardly watch as Scorpius pressed tiny kisses over Lily's exquisite face when he thought no one was looking. "Adorable," Aunt Ginny would croon whenever she saw them, but the truth was that seeing them together was about as adorable as a lemon being squeezed right into your eye, a big, fat, juicy lemon that wasn't stingy with its spritzes.

Scorpius and Lily. How juvenile. How obscene and bittersweet and _gross_.

And how Molly wished to be in her place.


	26. Chapter 26

26.

8.11.11

Coconut Macaroon

Molly & James

burst, parade, gemstone

"Ready?"

Molly squinted in the darkness, through the fog that hung over the lake ominously. James was standing beside her, bending his knees, just waiting for her to say the word.

"Are you seriously doing this?" she asked. There was no one around, at least, there shouldn't be, it being well past curfew, but she still felt the need to whisper. "You said you wanted to just relax by the lake, not to jump into it!"

James grinned, his pearly whites a burst of brightness in the dark of the night. He had a mischievous look about him glittering deep in his eyes like a couple of gemstones and it made Molly smile. James had always been her favorite cousin, adventurous and bold and jarringly different from the rest of the family—but sometimes a little _too_ different.

"What are you waiting for, a parade?" he asked impatiently.

Molly pursed her lips. "We could get into serious trouble, you idiot. You're at Hogwarts, not at home. We're jumping into the lake, not stealing your mother's coconut macaroons."

"And as I recall, you were just as wary then as you are now," he laughed. "Come on, cuz. Live a little."

And he pushed her right in.

She gave him an unholy tongue bashing afterwards and some fist bashing, as well, but couldn't stop herself from smiling throughout.


	27. Chapter 27

27.

8.12.11

Peppermint Swirls

Molly_Lorcan_

rainbow, jewels

Molly knew that Lorcan Scamander was just another boy. Just another boy with blonde hair that fell just perfectly over his face, covering his eyebrows and draping his eyes like a curtain, complimenting those baby blues that shone like twin jewels on his face. Just another boy whose smile was like a rainbow, a fusion of colors and feelings that shouldn't have but blended together flawlessly. Just another boy whose walk Molly could identify from a mile away. Just another boy who had dreams, big dreams that were mostly reality, but with swirls of something much bigger. Just another boy with hot breath that always smelled like peppermint and Molly would never admit to having spent many a daydream wondering if he tasted like it too.

Yes, Lorcan Scamander, he was just another boy. But maybe there was a bit less 'just another' to him than there was to everyone else.


	28. Chapter 28

28.

8.13.11

Banana Hazelnut

Molly & Dominique

gilded, metamorphosis, rivalry

Perfect Dominique Weasley and her perfect blonde hair and those perfectly shiny, hazelnut eyes that caught the light in just the most perfectly perfect way grated on Molly's nerves like nothing else ever could. Dominique Weasley. God, what a cliché. What a joke. What a hideous personality, hiding underneath such beauty, such glamour, such _perfection_. What a beast hiding behind that beautiful gilded image, so deceiving, so ugly.

It was so awful, how Dominique had turned out. Who have foreseen this? Who could've known that such a friendship could turn into such a rivalry? Who could've thought that Dominique would turn into such a beautiful butterfly and leave Molly behind in her chrysalis, stuck in the middle of that awkward metamorphosis from which she seemed unable to budge? Molly never could've even considered it. Dominique, she could make slipping on a banana peel look pretty. Molly wouldn't even have gotten up off the floor if she had slipped on one of those.

Whatever. Dominique was pretty and Molly wasn't. They used to be friends, close good friends and now they weren't. That's life. It never turned out the way they thought it would. Right?

Molly could feel all the resentment (bitterness) and anger (jealousy) and fuel that rivalry all she wanted (and also secretly long for a time where they had been friends, cousins, _sisters_) but life was life. So whatever. Just whatever.

She could still hate that perfection from her comfortable perch on the sidelines. That never had to change.


End file.
